Yet Another Day
by JadziaKathryn
Summary: Not everyone in Starfleet gets an exciting assignment. What's life like on a mundane ship? Now complete!
1. The Captain

Disclaimer: I don't own whatever you recognize; I'm just playing in Paramount's world.

Personal log, Captain Elise Mercoeur:

"I've forgotten the stardate. Then again, it doesn't matter much anyway. Today was exactly like yesterday, and the day before, and tomorrow will be the same.

It's hard to imagine that when I was first offered a promotion, I thought it would be exciting to be a captain. Now I wonder what I did wrong.

The _Charlemagne_ is a good ship, so don't get me wrong. My crew is good, too. It seems that we are all ready for bigger things than we are called to do.

_If I cannot do great things, let me do small things in a great way. _That's some patience; no wonder they made the woman a saint. I know that we can't all be like Picard, but I would like a little excitement once in a while. It's wonderful that the Klingon Neutral Zone is so peaceful now, with nothing except diplomatic envoys and the occasional trade ship passing through. The problem with this is that we have nothing to do.

It occurred to me today on the bridge that my ship is ironically named. We glide back and forth, doing what amounts to a great deal of nothing, in a ship that bears the name of a man who crowned himself after creating an empire. I have a lot of time to think on the bridge, and thoughts like this are the result. I wonder if the rest of the crew has similar musings.

The Admiralty released details on _Voyager_'s encounter with the Omega molecule. Considering that they've been home the better part of nine months now, I'd say that the Admiralty is taking its time. Then again, Janeway's reports will probably take them half a lifetime to get through. Reading the report, which I suspect was heavily censored before they would release it to run-of-the-mill captains like myself, was the most exciting thing I've done in the past three months.

Like every other citizen of the Federation, I read the news brief when _Voyager_ first came home. Out of a Borg transwarp conduit, no less. Like every other Starfleet captain, I read the brief on the Borg that Janeway and her crew had provided (again, probably omitting key details now and again. I suffer no delusions of my own importance regarding the level of information Starfleet brass wants me to have access too). While I don't particularly want to be assimilated, even on a temporary basis, I have to admit to a twinge of jealousy reading these. I hear about Janeway, Picard, and the late Sisko, and I wonder how some people end up with all the excitement.

Picard has commanded the respect of the Klingon Empire for at least a decade now, and he has a maneuver named after him that every cadet studies. Sisko's actions during the Dominion War will go down in history. Plus the Bajorans thought, and for all I know still think, that he was their religious Emissary, which is another issue entirely. Janeway accomplished the impossible in a tenth of the time it should've happened, and while she was at it freed a Borg drone. A human drone at that! Compared to all those Delta Quadrant races, what are the odds of a human drone? Well, she was assigned to _Voyager_ for that reason. See, even the Borg can use an individual now and again. However, I'm digressing. Let's not forget that Janeway also dealt a crippling blow to the Borg and found Amelia Earhart.

The last time my adrenaline went up was when the warp core suddenly and quite randomly went down, which turned out to be because Crewman Eyuna was hallucinating.. Ensign Grisham apparently did not know that Rewalans are highly allergic to chocolate, and Eyuna apparently did not know that mocha has chocolate. Those knowledge gaps have since been filled, which in some ways is a pity. It's rather pathetic that I even think that.

I should take up a competitive sport. They have enough holoteachers in the database to teach even me rules and regulations. I've gone on every trail in my hiking program twice, anyway.

I wonder if the Janeways and Picards know about people like me, who'd like once in a while for their ship to save the day."

End log.

Coming Soon: The Pilot


	2. The Pilot

A/N: I used the stardate calculator at http:stardates.blaser to approximate the date here. It's a great tool for anyone like me whose mind is boggled by the conversions.

Lieutenant (junior grade) Rali Sazun knew that he wasn't the brightest mind Trill had ever produced, and far from the best pilot. He'd been disappointed when he didn't graduate in the top half of his class at the Academy. Having an older brother who was an accomplished poet and joined besides did not help his self image. However, he did know that he was, if not a standout pilot, a decent one. He _had_ graduated certified to fly any Starfleet vessel. He was fairly certain that the computer could do his job without the slightest problem, because nothing ever happened that a brain would need to process. Rali wanted a little challenge to make his life interesting.

Personal log, Lieutenant Rali Sazun, Stardate 55719.03

"Almost got to enter a minor course correction today. We were going to intersect with a comet. Sadly, Captain Mercoeur let Fritz use it for target practice, so my chance at excitement passed.

Sanchez has taken up singing. Either she is under the impression that the walls are far more soundproof than they actually are, or she got the idea that she's good. I'm not sure which. It's fortunate that she's singing in Spanish, so I don't recognize the songs and then cringe at how much she's mangling them. Still, it can be hard to remember that she's next door and not here in my quarters. That's how loud she is."

End log.

Rali sighed and picked up a padd. He'd just gotten a copy of his favorite contemporary author's latest novel. Fritz, who also appreciated the work of Kuzi Sar, was jealous because the Federation Standard translation wouldn't be out for two more weeks. That gave Rali some satisfaction after the comet incident. Besides, Sar was much better when read in the original Trill. The translations never caught all the subtleties of his language and the slightly lyrical quality of his dialogue. However, they were much better than running the original through the computer's translation matrix, as Fritz had discovered last time Sar had a new novel.

"One of your ancient writers once said that he took care, when translating, not to translate every word. That's the problem," Rali had informed Fritz after a hearty laugh. The computer had truly destroyed the individual nuances of the novel; at least the published translations were able to capture most of Sar's intent.

Fritz was pretty sure it was Homer who said that, but he wasn't sure. Rali had no idea.

After reading the prologue, he went over to his small desk and activated the comm. system. "Computer, begin recording." Once he heard the obliging beep, he smiled. "Hi little sister. How are the kids doing?" Rali's sister taught young children in the Trill equivalent of kindergarten, a job which he was sure he could never do.

"I'll grant you one thing, your job never sounds boring. I still prefer mine, but sometimes I think that this assignment is so easy, any one of the kids in your class could do it. Nine months left until I'm up for a new assignment, and I hope to see a little excitement.

If you hear that terrible caterwauling, it's my neighbor. Her new hobby is singing, but she's horrible.

One good thing has come out of this assignment. Besides the extra pip, that is. I'm now an extremely qualified ping-pong player. Sonya and I won the shipwide tournament last night. I know what you're thinking, Ezri, and we're _just friends_. I think she might be interested in Fritz, actually.

The _Charlemagne_ is a good ship. I really hope that I get a chance to see what she can do. I asked Captain Mercoeur if I could try a couple fancy moves, just for fun, but she said that we don't want the Klingons to interpret it the wrong way. I don't see how a couple of loops could be threatening, but she's the captain.

Take care of yourself, little sister." Standing up to look out the window, he sighed. "Computer, send message to Ezri Sazun."

A second passed while the computer processed his request and retrieved her comm. code. "Message sent."

Rali looked out at the stars for a long time before returning to his novel.

Up Next: The Doctor


	3. The Doctor

Dr. T'Rel walked out of Sickbay with her usual serene countenance and poise. She strode the corridors to her quarters, occasionally nodding to a crewmember she was acquainted with in the sciences.

The doctor had no desire to eat in the mess hall that evening. She needed to meditate far more than she needed to eat, as during her shift she had found herself troubled - though she would deny unrest to any of her shipmates, T'Rel was honest with herself – by certain thoughts that required meditation.

She had seven meditation candles arranged around her quarters to provide the most peaceful atmosphere possible. The temperature in her quarters was 1.8 degrees higher, in the human Celsius measurement, than the rest of the ship. In this environment T'Rel was able to release her mind from the constraints of time and place.

Most of her shipmates considered T'Rel to be one of the more austere Vulcans they had met, but that façade she presented in order to conceal the truth. She was rocked with more emotion than most Vulcans, and often unable to suppress her feelings sufficiently. Though she could act as one who was in total control of her emotions, T'Rel hardly ever was. The catastrophic head trauma she'd suffered in the accident that killed her bondmate and only daughter plagued her daily in the form of surfacing emotions. Only her two adult sons knew the extent of her injuries. Her colleagues in the hospital on Vulcan where she had worked did not question her abrupt departure from Vulcan after the accident. It was obvious that the head injuries she and her bondmate had suffered caused a terrible breaking of their bond, which in medical circles was well-known to cause permanent cessation of _pon farr_. T'Rel preferred to leave under that guise, letting them draw the logical conclusion that the cessation of _pon farr_ allowed her to embark on long-term missions. In truth, she left because she could not remain on Vulcan, with its memories. It was easier to repress her emotions in an environment she had not known since the accident.

Nearly twenty years had passed since the accident, and T'Rel had never returned to Vulcan. In that time she had focused on her career as a Starfleet physician. The past three and a half years had been spent aboard the _Charlemagne_; she had served on the ship longer than Captain Mercoeur had. Since the end of the Dominion War and the _Charlemagne_'s assignment to the Neutral Zone, she had found herself with little to do. Aside from the occasional headache or minor injury, her expertise was not often required.

T'Rel found that she was unsatisfied. Her career was not progressing, and this ambition unsettled her. She should consider herself fortunate that the individuals whose health she was responsible for did not come close to dying, but she felt unfulfilled. Much of her time was taken up with research projects, but Sickbay was not a research facility, and the extent of her experiments was thus limited.

She settled into the position that she always used when mediating and focused on the dual flames of the two candles in front of her. The subtle movements of the flame flickered, and in a habit borne of much practice, T'Rel was able to escape.

Her meditative state was nothing but desert as far as she could see. Unlike the true Vulcan desert, it was not heated by two suns, but she found the endless sand soothing. Walking through the sand, T'Rel considered her emotions.

Ambition was not a desirable characteristic. She desired to help people while using the years of experience she had in the medical field; that was why she'd joined Starfleet after her recovery. Helping people on the _Charlemagne_ rarely required medical expertise, but that should not bother her. Yet it did.

She knew that most of the crew felt similar emotions, and she wished that she had stronger control over hers. Ambition was divisive and counterproductive to the goal of providing medical treatment. T'Rel wanted nothing to do with it.

It mattered little if she did earn another promotion. She intended to serve in Starfleet as long as she was capable, after which time she would retire to live the short remainder of her days in the home of her eldest son. T'Rel knew that the accident dramatically increased the likelihood of her developing a degenerative neurological disease, and it would probably shorten her lifespan as well. Bendii Syndrome was also genetically present in her family's history. T'Rel could not detect any symptoms of it yet, but she estimated that she would begin to suffer symptoms in approximately one human decade. Until then, she would serve in Starfleet. Thus, it was not ambition that was the cause of her problems. She had no cause for ambition.

She stopped walking and stood still in the desert. Nothing but sand and sky marred her vision until she saw, off to her side, the carcass of a sehlat. Never in her one hundred and sixty two years had T'Rel encountered anything but sand and sky in her meditative state, so it was logical to assume the dead sehlat was significant.

It was not even a sehlat anymore, really. It was a carcass which had once been a sehlat, but that which made the creature alive, which made it a sehlat, was gone. The body had no use.

What occurred to T'Rel next shocked her out of her meditative state, and she found herself looking once more at the flames. She identified with the carcass; she felt useless. The realization was profoundly disturbing.

She did not know how other races dealt with such a crippling emotion. Try as she might, she was unable to enter her meditative state again. T'Rel stared at the twin flames for a long time while she tried to process what she had learned about herself.

She was uncertain of how to proceed. At last she blew out the candles and prepared herself for sleep.

That night, T'Rel dreamt of a live, energetic sehlat.

Next Up: The Tactical Officer


	4. The Tactical Officer

A/N: The question raised by MarieChristine81 is a good one. I am under the impression that the Federation and Klingon Empire are allies, but not that the Klingons have joined the Federation (since Worf was sent as Federation Ambassador to the Klingon Empire at the end of DS9). They may have nixed the Neutral Zone in favor of a border, in which case, these characters are border patrol. I claim creative license, but it's a good question. I may be wrong, too. It's happened before. ;)

Personal Log, Lieutenant Fritz Hermann, Stardate 55760.44:

"I finally got the Federation Standard translation of Sar's latest novel. Rali, of course, just finished his copy. I should really start learning how to read Trill. It's not like I don't have the time, after all. Time is one thing we have in abundance out here. We may not have anything else, like something to do, but we have time.

As usual, nothing happened. I was about to ask the captain if I could go through all the phasers and check them, when I remembered that I did that three days ago. Time is starting to lose meaning.

To make things worse, a diplomatic envoy went through today. I was practically green with envy, because the crew of that ship actually gets to do something. How'd I end up on this ship, anyway? And shouldn't I be a Lt. Commander by now? Never mind the promotion, even, just give me something to do! We're buddies with the Klingons now, which means the _Charlemagne_ isn't doing much of anything.

Maybe we can find the Klingons who are stuck doing this patrol thing too, and have a cultural exchange. We could compare recreational activities and food. Even if there weren't any drunken brawls to break up, which would be the first thing my department has done in forever, we could still have a good time.

Actually, I bet that, as bad as this patrol business is for us –do we really need a Neutral Zone anymore?- it's even worse for Klingons. There's a little perspective. At least I don't have a cultural thirst for battle. Sad as it is, I still get excited when there's a comet to blow up. Hey, I have to make sure the phasers still work _somehow_. I don't know why they even bothered giving us photon torpedoes, unless the brass somehow think hostilities could break out again. I seriously doubt that, because nobody wants another war. Not even the Klingons, at least with the Federation. They have serious doubts about the Romulans, and I'm pretty sure the brass does too. Klingons are better allies than Romulans, not that I'd mind being allied with the Romulans either. However, the Romulans are crafty and unpredictable. Not to mention that their politicians are hardly ever in authority for long before someone kills them. Klingons are at least fairly predictable.

Maybe once I've mastered the Trill language, I can take on Klingon.

If Rali gets airs about reading Sar in the original Trill again, I might just look into the feasibility of making German the default language on his console. I may not use my German as much as he uses his Trill, but he's not the only one around here who speaks two languages. I think Oma would be really upset if I stopped sending messages to her in our "native tongue." Never mind that I learned Standard before German.

I'm going to start that novel."

End log.

(Oma: Grandma)

Personal log, Lieutenant Fritz Hermann, Stardate 55762.89:

"Rali got to maneuver around the meteoroid that we passed today, which means that I didn't get to blow it up. Apparently Captain Mercoeur was sure the phasers were still working. Dang. I was close to getting to do something.

Whoever decided that Tactical should have a seat is a genius. I really like this _Nebula_-class design, although I think they could've come up with a better name for the class. The name is much less important than my seat. Really, who wants to stand for a shift when there's nothing to do? There are days I think that wonderful seat is the only thing that keeps me sane. Today was one of them.

On the plus side, I'm pretty sure the captain saw that Rali and I had half of our screens set up to play "Supernova Race II, Extended Version" but she ignored it. It's a good thing that we didn't get stuck with an uptight captain or I'd really lose it. Besides, I was winning. I suspect that she might play Solitaire when she's in her Ready Room, but more power to her. There can't be that many reports. We never have anything to report on. Someone should slip her a copy of Mah Jong, that's a classic.

Supernova Race III is coming out next month. That's going to be excellent. Of course, the extended version won't be out for a couple months after that, and the extended version is always better. Bridge shifts are eight hours, after all.

Sar's novel is great so far. Had to ask Rali about a ritual that was going on in the beginning, which apparently has something to do with meeting the former hosts of one's symbiont. I know the Trill consider being joined to be a big honor, but reading about that ritual, I'm not so sure I'd want to be joined. He told me that since it's physiologically impossible, it's a good thing I feel that way.

I've got holodeck time tonight. Aspen, and I've programmed it so there's actually snow coming down as I ski. It's gorgeous, and there's always great snow and fresh trails on the holodeck."

End log.

There are at least three more installments here, but I'm not sure who's next. I'm open to ideas for the position of the next person.


	5. The Engineer

A/N: Thanks to Anarra for the idea that inspired this chapter!

Personal log, Lieutenant Sonya Hart, Stardate 55763.54:

I just got a message from Betsy today. Eight months from now, I'm going to be an aunt! She and Phil are already trying to come up with names, and he's got an extensive plan for the nursery. At least he had the good sense to leave the decorative choices to her. My brother-in-law may be a great architect, but he's a lousy decorator. That's the best news I've heard in a while. Aunt Sonya has a nice ring to it.

Things here are less exciting. It's not bad enough that Fritz and Rali are complaining about boredom. Now Trish has jumped on that train, too. She says that she'll be woefully under-prepared for the time when she's a Chief Medical Officer. You'd think a doctor, of all people, would appreciate not having her hands full! I don't get it, I really don't.

I suppose that I should admit it: working in Engineering, things break whether or not we see a lot of action. Just today one of the plasma injectors broke, and I spent most of my shift fixing it. Of course we put a new one in, but this was fixable, and if we need to we can put it back in with no problems. This sort of thing is enough for me. I don't want to have to try and bring a damaged warp core back online with some hostile aliens chasing us or any similar adrenaline-rush work. I didn't join Starfleet for glory and excitement. I joined because it's the best way to get to play with technology. What can I say, I'm a purist.

So while the three of them were whining, I sort of spaced out at dinner. Actually, I was thinking about the shift rotation that I have to have in tomorrow morning. Once the conversation turned to ping-pong, though, I joined in again. We're on for tomorrow night. Trish and I left when we were done; the guys were still talking about the new Nova Race or whatever it is that's coming out soon. Honestly, get those two talking about space race programs and it's like they're fifteen. They actually play it on the bridge! If there's ever nothing to do in Engineering, we can set up a chess tournament or something. Until then, I better not catch any of my people playing games on duty.

We finally finished repairing that biobed in Sickbay. I don't know how they managed to fry so many circuits while treating a mild concussion, but it's probably better not to ask.

My real dilemma is Fritz, again. Or rather, still. I'm still working the dating-a-colleague thing through in my head. We don't work together directly very often, but I've never dated anyone I worked with before. Then again, the only serious relationship I've had was Frank DeSol back at the Academy. The price of being a career woman, I suppose. Fritz and I seem to have a lot of potential, but I'm cautious. My forte has always been things that are solid and tangible, which is why I'm an engineer and not a counselor. However, he's also cautious, which means at this rate I'll be fifty by the time we have our first date.

Trish, of course, thinks that I should ask him out. If there's a risk, she insists, it's far outweighed by the benefit. She's also sure he'd say yes. I was going to point out that her relationship track record isn't so great, but she's still sensitive about Henry. The loser did send her a surprise holoprogram, and she played it only to find out it was a Dear Jane holo. Pretty low, and I didn't want to bring that up again.

Well, it's my birthday in two weeks. Maybe he'll do something special.

In other news, I'm pretty sure that Grisham was dared to show up late today, because after I gave him a chewing-out, he muttered something about the problem with synthehol being that you can't blame stupid things on it. Here's another case of something I probably don't want to know more about. Coming in forty minutes late, even after I commed him, he deserved the earful I gave him. And I did it in my office, so the whole of Engineering didn't hear. They probably had a good idea what was going on, but that can't be helped.

I've got to tell Trish that I'm going to be Aunt Sonya. I do wonder if I'm going to have a niece or a nephew, and I also wonder if it'll be possible to get some home leave then."

Eng log.

Next in line: The First Officer


	6. The First Officer

A/N: I've worked in some elements suggested by MarieChristine81 for a little variety. Thanks for the ideas! Everyone's reviews have provided ideas and also made this story somewhat longer than originally planned.

A/N 2: Just so you know, "ad astra" is Latin for "to the stars."

Personal log, Commander Lucas Stillwater, Stardate 55772.19:

"I overheard some interesting comments in the mess hall today. The crew is getting progressively more bored. I can't even say I blame them. Pictionary night is a big draw now; it's the most excitement we get as a group. They've even got it going on once during Beta shift and again during Gamma so everyone has a chance to attend. People take great pride in being on the winning team. I'd like to know if this sort of thing happens on, say, the _Enterprise_.

Anyway, some of the more revealing and interesting quotes:

_I don't see why we can't take a small detour, just for a few days. I mean, they don't want crazy people on a ship, do they? So a few days away, anywhere but here, and Starfleet would be better off for having happy people patrol the Zone._ I'm not sure who that was, but I don't think that he should submit a request to the brass in that language. However, a few more months of this and I might make a mental wellness recommendation. Captain Mercoeur doesn't want to complain, but I just might reach my breaking point soon. Her breaking threshold is above mine. Maybe it comes with the extra pip.

_Can we start negotiating with the Klingons? If we stop patrolling and they stop patrolling, then we're equal. And wouldn't that foster trust? _Sounded like either Crewman Feldman or Ensign Parelli, but I could be mistaken. I think that the first suggestion is far more likely to happen.

_They should've told me about my transfer in the good news/bad news format. The good news is you're being promoted to Transporter Chief on the _Charlemagne. _The bad news is that even a poorly trained monkey could do your new job. _That, obviously, was Chief al-Hazan, who truthfully hasn't had anything to transport in months. He's even polished the transporter controls, rumor has it.

_I actually pitied my classmates who got stuck guarding the Academy. Now I'm jealous. _Since this was followed by something suspiciously like a curse Gref taught me freshman year at the Academy (ah, the benefits of interspecies rooming), Ensign Kroh is the most likely candidate.

_Do you think we could try casual Fridays? _I would not recommend that Ensign We'bu bring this up with the captain. Mostly because I suspect that the captain doesn't own a lot of clothing that isn't 'Fleet issue.

I'm pretty sure that I even heard Trish McClellan complaining of boredom. It's pretty bad when the doctors start to complain, although I've yet to hear a word of boredom from our CMO. Considering T'Rel has to be one of the least emotional Vulcans in the universe, that doesn't surprise me. That even Trish is restless means we're in serious trouble.

No complaints from Engineering, but both holodecks went down today, so they're up to their collective elbows in that mess. Some of them looked so happy, I would suspect sabotage if the ire of the rest of the crew hadn't come down so hard. Bored people do not like having entertainment taken away from them. Although apparently a large game of charades is being organized for the night to help alleviate the loss of the holodecks. I'm lousy at charades, so I'm going to try to keep a low profile.

There's a new biography of Jonathan Archer out. That isn't surprising, since someone does a biography of him every two years at least. The surprising part is that I'm actually reading it. I've never been much for pleasure reading, but, as it has been observed many times, we have to fill the days on the _Charlemagne_ somehow. So far it's not bad. It beats "possibly the most seminal work since _War and Peace_," a description that is perhaps the surest way to scare away a lot of potential readers, or that Trill author Sazun and Hermann are so fond of. Not enough happens in his books.

The downside of reading _Ad Astra: The Jonathan Archer Story_ is that it reminds me of all the things we don't get to do. On a side note, the Latin in the title was somewhat worrisome at first – I'm a first officer, not a specialized historian – but once I started it, I realized the book is actually reader-friendly. Probably Starfleet historians are bemoaning that about now. Anyway, they got to go on all sorts of adventures. And although I'm not quite sure how he worked out having his Science Officer also be his First Officer, T'Pol got to do a whole lot of wild things. Now here I am. Graduated from the Academy, spent several years posted to McKinley Station, promoted to Lieutenant j.g. and shipped out on the _Kepler_. Not much action there unless you're in science. Promoted to full lieutenant, in charge of the runabout _Amazon_. Ferried brass around until a couple months after my promotion to Lieutenant Commander, when I was put in charge of Starfleet's base in Io. That was at least somewhat interesting, being so close to Jupiter. There's an unpredictable planet, and the view was always nice. Of course, there was the whole Changeling paranoia epidemic for a while. However, I have no desire to be a wartime commander, that's for sure. From Io to the _Charlemagne_. That's my career in – how many sentences was that? Anyway, that's it. Either nothing or Changeling paranoia, that's my career.

I would ask myself what I'm doing my life, but after the trip down memory lane regarding how my career has progressed, I'm afraid of the answer.

I'm not asking for a chance to save the known universe. You'd think that there's something useful I could do out here besides evaluation reports for a crew full of untapped potential.

That mental wellness request may not be as far off as I originally thought, bad career move or not. For tonight, though, I'm going to hope I don't make a huge fool out of myself playing charades."

End log.


	7. The Ops Officer

A/N: Sorry for the delay, but this chapter was especially hard for some reason. It's short, but the main purpose is to segue to the final chapter, in which the crew gets some excitement. Meanwhile, thanks for the reviews and enjoy!

Personal log, Ensign Shariel, Stardate 55938.83

"Hmm, it's been a long time since I recorded anything here. There's been nothing to say, of course. Until today.

I finally solved the mystery of Captain Mercoeur's numerous communiqués with Command and the Federation Diplomatic Corps. Not that this really has anything to do with my detective skills; she made a shipwide announcement.

We're going to have a cultural exchange with the Klingons who are on the other side of the Neutral Zone. Finally, something to do! Everyone who wants to, which is basically the entire ship, will have a chance to host a Klingon and a chance to visit their ship in return. We get half an hour of holodeck time when we're hosting, which means I can show my guest the program I just finished of the thermal springs of Ajhel. My antennae are twitching with excitement at the thought of it!

I must admit, I did enjoy trying to figure out this mystery. Using the resources of my station to create a timeline, since there wasn't anything else to do, as usual, I had worked out a few highly speculative theories – the resumption of hostilities with the Klingon Empire, the abolition of the Neutral Zone, and Captain Mercoeur's transfer to the Diplomatic Corps being the prominent ones – but I didn't consider this. A cultural exchange should prove very interesting.

In other news, Lieutenants Hermann and Hart are reported to have enjoyed an exceptionally long second date last night. Nobody seems to know who finally asked who out, which is a pity. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time, with the possible exception of the two lieutenants themselves.

This business also reminds me that there are no other Andorians on the _Charlemagne_ except Rolea, and he's promised to someone back home. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's retiring from Starfleet in less than a year now to be with her. Anyway, while I'm not xenophobic or anything, I would prefer to have an Andorian mate. However, as Commander Stillwater is fond of saying, "you never know." There are many single males on the _Charlemagne_.

I should stop thinking about such matters. We have to be ready for the cultural exchange! The next few days we're actually going to have things to do while on duty. That will be a nice change. All information that could possibly be construed as sensitive (which is a lot, according to the list we've been given) has to be kept from Klingon eyes. If they're half as bored as we are, they will probably be too busy enjoying leaving their ship to care about sensitive information. Still, we have the long list, thoughtfully broken down by departments, and we have to stick to it carefully.

Looking at other sections, I'm glad that I'm not in Engineering. They have the most sensitive technology and information. Actually, they have the most after Captain Mercoeur, but her high-level stuff is classified and spirited away from the rest of us anyway as a matter of course.

According to Rose, Security is "practically doing cartwheels" now. They get to work on all this sensitive-information stuff, and there will be security procedures to be followed for this cultural exchange. On the way back from dinner, she demonstrated a cartwheel, as neither Ensign T'Loc or I knew what she was referring to. It is an interesting display to watch, but I don't have any desire to learn the technique. Perhaps after the cultural exchange, when we go back to our usual boredom, I'll ask her to teach me."

End log.

Coming Soon: The Grand Finale


	8. The Exchange

A/N: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed this story! MarieChristine81, your comment made me take the suggestion in Fritz's log seriously and consider what might happen. This is the result: excitement in the final chapter. Thanks again and enjoy!

Personal log, Ensign Rose Platt, Stardate 56084.32

"Well, it was my turn to host a Klingon for the day. I was incredibly nervous while I walked down to the transporter room, but when I got there, everyone looked as nervous as I felt. It seemed like an eternity before the Chief announced that the next Klingon was "mine."

A really tall Klingon materialized on the transporter pad. Of course, even most humans look tall to me, but the Klingon was taller than all but one I'd met yesterday on the _IKS Qpok_. He looked at the few of us standing, his eyes looking sharp. He looked more intimidating than Wyget, but I reminded myself that the reason we hosted a different person than the person who hosted us was to further broaden the exchange. I suspect that, due to the diversity of the Federation, this is more for their benefit than ours, but I thought about broadening my horizons and took a deep breath.

I stepped forward as he moved off the transporter pad. "Welcome to the _USS_ _Charlemagne_." Just in time, I remembered that we're supposed to ignore ranks. Most likely, we're paired with someone who holds an equivalent rank, but we're only supposed to use our names. Informality seems to be important to this; I bet it's because the Admiralty doesn't want us talking too much business. "I'm Rose Platt."

When I held out my hand, he shook it vigorously. "Roseplatt," he said, all one word and with too much emphasis on the ess.

"You can call me Rose. Platt is my family name."

"Rose," he repeated, much closer to the actual pronunciation this time. "An appropriate name for a human female."

Well, I wasn't sure what to make of that. "A rose is a flower on Earth, but people have been naming their daughters Rose for centuries."

"I am Gru'Kesh, son of Howroth. My father's father died honorably in battle. I was given his name."

By this time everyone in the transporter room except Chief al-Hazan, who hosted yesterday, was paired up with a Klingon and beginning to disperse. "Well, Gru'Kesh, would you like to see the ship?" The _Charlemagne_ is in tour mode, with everything that could be sensitive, and a good many things that aren't, carefully stored away. We're cleared to bring our guests aboard the bridge, so long as we don't actually get to close to the stations and disrupt the officers on duty who, of course, won't be doing anything anyway. After a considerable debate, it was decided to open Engineering up, as long as we stay on the main level and don't linger. The only place we can't go in the armory. This is hard for us in security, but I can't really argue that we ought to bring Klingons in. I didn't see their armory either.

"I would," replied Gru'Kesh. I was pleased to not that he wasn't carrying any weapons, or at least any visible ones. I expected the Klingons to insist on a dagger or two. Since everyone had at least one dagger on the _Qpok_ yesterday, I assume this was part of the agreement.

"We'll start with the mess hall. It's the most important place on the ship."

"More than your bridge?" he asked, but he sounded genuinely confused, and not like he was fishing for sensitive information.

"The mess hall is where most of the social activities go on. And the holodecks, of course, but we'll get there. We've got half an hour a little later."

"I see. You are not referring to official ship's activities."

"Well," I shrugged, "I don't know about your side of the Zone, but we don't have much to do, so not much happens on the bridge."

Gru'Kesh smiled. "That is true on the _Qpok_ as well, although I do not work on the bridge very often. I am an engineer."

"At least you still have things to do. I'm in Security, and we never have anything to do. You must still have broken consoles and things to fix."

"Yes," he said, then paused for a minute. "I could give your department something to do, but I pledged not to."

I gulped and laughed, hoping he was joking. Fortunately he was, although the pat on the back that followed was a tad too hearty forceful for my liking. I almost tripped in the corridor because of it, but managed to avoid that particular method of making a fool out of myself. "You have a good sense of humor, Rose."

We reached the mess hall. "Here we are. We'll be back for lunch, but I thought we could get a drink first. Transporting always makes me thirsty."

"I have never heard of this transporter – induced thirst, but a drink would be excellent. The purpose of our exchange is to learn more about each other. I believe that food is an excellent way to learn." I'm not surprised he's never heard of transporter – induced thirst, because I've never met anyone else with that side effect.

"It's kind of early for alcohol," I said, realizing that it wasn't even oh-nine-hundred yet.

"You have an appropriate time?"

"You don't have to wait," I offered.

"No. I wish to experience your culture properly. What would you recommend?"

"If you like coffee, I suggest the café au lait."

"I do not like coffee very much." That was too bad. I liked their coffee. A little strong at first, but after a few sips you adjust.

"Orange juice then, or maybe ginger ale."

Gru'Kesh laughed, and I must have made a face. "The translation is humorous for this 'ginger ale.'" He laughed again. "May I try both?"

"Sure." I walked to the replicator. "Two orange juices, medium pulp, and one ginger ale." The drinks materialized and I handed Gru'Kesh the juice first. He took a large gulp, which isn't how I usually try new drinks, but it seemed to work for him.

"Acidic, but good," was his judgment. "I like these pieces that float."

"It's the pulp."

"Ah. It is good to include pulp in juices."

"Some people don't like pulp, but I do."

"I agree." He finished off the juice. "Now for this."

"You might want to drink it - " he downed several milliliters, "slowly." His eyes got really big, and for a moment after he swallowed I thought he might not be breathing.

Fortunately he recovered. "I see why you drink it slowly."

"I should've mentioned it earlier. I'm sorry."

"No. I assumed that all drinks may be consumed quickly, which is not true in your culture. I have learned much already."

"Soda is best enjoyed a little more slowly than juice."

"I must confess that I did not enjoy the first drink, but I will try again." Gru'Kesh sure got points for guts in my book. He took a smaller drink and considered it for a moment. "I prefer the orange juice, but this is palatable now." In several more sips, he finished the ginger ale. "Thank you for the drinks."

Our holodeck time was spent touring the Great Wall of China and the Grand Canyon. It's too bad that we only got half an hour each, but there are so many of us I don't see another way. Besides, Connie's time slot was right after mine, so we doubled up to show our guests twice as much. First we rode mules down the Grand Canyon (my choice) and then walked along the Great Wall (Connie's choice). Gru'Kesh was quite impressed with both, but especially the Great Wall. I think it appealed to the engineer in him when I explained just how little technology was available.

He clearly wanted to see more of Engineering than I was allowed to show, but was respectful of the agreed-upon boundaries. The bridge wasn't of much interest to him, but the shuttlebay intrigued him. Apparently the Klingon design is much different.

Right before he left we had lunch. I chose a nice ham dinner platter for each of us. All in all, I think he liked our food a lot more than I liked Klingon food. Gagh and bllodwine – there's a recipe for an effective crash diet. While Gru'Kesh was initially quite skeptical of the cooked meat, he ate it – and the accompanying raisin sauce – with gusto. That is more than I can say for my experience with gagh. Oddly enough, he loved gravy but wasn't fond of the mashed potatoes. Cranberry sauce was, I believe, his favorite, but the he ate the peas, albeit with some suspicion. For dessert we had ice cream (chocolate and vanilla swirl) and finished off with a shot of vodka, which Gru'Kesh liked so much I offered him the replicator program. (I'd planned on champagne, because I prefer it, but I got the distinct impression that he didn't care much for carbonation after the ginger ale incident.)

Captain Mercoeur said that we could give replicator programs, and Gru'Kesh was very appreciative. I was very touched when Wyget presented me with my own mek'leth yesterday, so I wanted Gru'Kesh to have some sort of memento of his visit to the _Charlemagne_. He assured me that putting the program into their replicators won't be a problem.

This has been a really interesting experience. Not only did I learn more about Klingons that I would from any 'Fleet report, but I learned a few things about the idiosyncrasies of my culture as well. There's a benefit to exploring that they don't usually talk about, and they should.

If nothing else happens on the _Charlemagne_, this exchange is something I'll never forget, and it's worth the boredom. Three days ago, I wouldn't have thought anything would be worth the boredom.

Live and learn. That's what we're out here for."

End log.


End file.
